In Season: Check Out Chicories!

In the most recent Beaverton Farmers Market newsletter, market manager Ginger Rapport shared a comprehensive compendium of one of my favorite winter salad greens—though some tend to the reddish end of the spectrum. Their slightly bitter edge can be mitigated by soaking the chopped leaves in cold water for a couple of hours ahead of time, a trick I learned from Nostrana's Cathy Whims. Scroll down for a fantastic and slightly sweet dressing to serve on a salad of these lovelies.

Chicories are closely related to lettuces, but are heartier and have a bitter edge. They are cool weather crops that come into season in late fall and some are starting to appear in our grower’s stalls. They include Belgian endive, curly endive, escarole and radicchio.

Belgian endive.

Belgian Endive is grown indoors, in the dark, to maintain the extremely pale yellow, almost white, tightly packed head of leaves. Red Belgian Endive is technically a small, forced radicchio. They can be used interchangeably with traditional Belgian Endive.

Curly Endive (a.k.a. Frisée) has tightly closed, frizzy heads most commonly used in salads but it is also tasty when quickly sautéed with a bit of vinegar, such as sherry vinegar or balsamic.

Escarole.

Escarole is crunchy, green and bitter. It stands up to bold dressings in salads but is also good grilled or broiled for a powerful accompaniment to roasted or grilled meats, and is fabulous creamed or in soups.

Radicchio, possibly the most well-known chicory, grows in small heads that are brilliant magenta. It is often used in salads but also shines when cooked a bit. It pairs particularly well with assertive ingredients such as olives, blue cheese, apples, figs and walnuts.

Speckled Radicchio is a cross between radicchio and escarole. It has a mild flavor with delicate leaves that can be used in salads but is sturdy enough to stand up to a little cooking.

Arch Cape chicory from Ayers Creek Farm.

Treviso Radicchio is similar in flavor to regular radicchio but is a little sweeter and grows in longer, looser-leafed heads. One unusual type, developed from an Italian variety and available locally in early March, is the Arch Cape chicory developed by Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm. Use treviso leaves in salads. Whole heads can be quartered and lightly grilled, or even stuffed and sautéed.

Fig Balsamic Salad Dressing

1/3 c. balsamic vinegar
1/3 c. olive oil
1 Tbsp. fresh chopped shallots
6 small brown turkey figs
4 tsp. honey, or to taste
1/8-1/4 tsp. salt, or to taste

Put all ingredients in a blender and blend on high until emulsified.

Top photo of chicories from Flying Coyote Farm at the Hollywood Farmers Market. List of chicories was distilled and edited from The Spruce Eats.

Squash Chronicles: Black Futsu Salad with Radicchio

It's all squash, all the time here at Good Stuff NW…or so you might surmise from the preponderance of Oscar-worthy starring roles that winter squash has been playing in recent posts.

Much of the blame for this cucurbit-heavy obsession can be laid at the feet of the fellow in the video above, the estimable Chef Tim Wastell and his henchperson/enabler Lane Selman of the Culinary Breeding Network, I'm happy to share the results of their collaboration here.

Get the recipe for the Black Futsu Salad with Radicchio above, and check out the rest of the Squash Chronicles.

Farm Bulletin: Taming Bitterness in Chicories

Leaf chicory, as well as the type known as radicchio, is a frilly beauty when found in a winter salad, though it can sometimes have a slightly bitter edge that some find too aggressive. Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm explains where this flavor comes from, and how to sweeten its personality.

This is the season for chicories. At the moment they are the speckled Lusia types. We have had trouble with the quality of the seed, so there is a lot variation in the field, and we are only able to harvest about 10% of what we planted, which is way below the 90% harvested in the past. We are not happy with the state of seed, to put it mildly. In February, we will have longer meditation about the genetics of chicories, and what we are doing to address the problem.

Italian radicchio.

As with Bette Davis and the lyrics of Sondheim, the bitterness in chicories is always a matter of interpretation and taste; some revel in it, others recoil. Varieties and individual plants vary as well. The bitter compounds are in the white latex of the sap and are water soluble, so the problem is easily addressed. Tearing the leaves lengthwise and immediately soaking them in iced water draws out the latex and eliminates almost all of the bitterness. Soaking for 20 minutes or so is generally enough.

If you are planning to braise the chicories, quarter them lengthwise and immediately soak in ice water. As with latex paint, if the plant's latex starts to set up and dry, it is no longer water soluble, so having soaking water ready before you tear or cut the heads is important. The ice is critical to the process because the cold shrinks the vascular tissue, forcing the latex out of the leaf. Lukewarm or cool water is useless for the task, so don't skimp on the ice.

Radicchio salad.

For a salad, a lemon-based dressing adds a bit of sweetness. Cutting vinegar with a bit of orange juice also works. An anchovy fillet squeezed through a garlic press and mixed into the dressing is another fine addition. As a forage crop for livestock, chicories have higher protein content than even legumes such as alfalfa, as well as a hefty dose of minerals. As a result, in recent years seed companies have been offering a greater range of forage chicories, apparently with better seed quality than we see in the varieties grown for human consumption. Regardless, you can't go wrong eating these fine winter greens, right Elsie?

Radicchio? Put a Pig On It

You can go out in a field at this time of year and find rows of blackened, slimy lumps (photo, lower left) where, presumably, there once were lush heads of some delicious leafy thing. You think, "How sad…what a waste." But reach down your (thankfully, gloved) hand, cut it off at the stem, wipe away the gunk and you'll discover a brilliant red head of radicchio or its cousin, treviso, that has matured and sweetened in the freezing temperatures. Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food has a suggestion for one way to appreciate these gems.

Adapted from Elizabeth Minchelli, this is a great reason for buying more salami than you think you can eat. If you follow Minchelli’s links back to the recipe that inspired her, you’ll see you can make it with fresh sausage, too.

Winter radicchio: yucky on the outside, gorgeous on the inside.

I had a 2-inch stub of leftover salami from one of our local salume makers (I think it was Olympic Provisions) and a couple of tablespoon’s worth of chopped-up cooked bacon. You could also use ham, pancetta or even crispy chicken skin, which is sort of porky.

Roasted Radicchio Stuffed with Porky Bits

Cut the salami (about a 2" stub, casing removed) into small cubes, then mix in a couple of tablespoons of bacon and dice it all together until quite small (Minchelli uses the food processor, but I didn’t want to clean mine for such a small job). If you use some other porky bits, chop 'em up fine.

Quarter the radicchio (the more common round, tight-leaf head variety; long-leaved, loose heads of Treviso radicchio (right) would work, too), keeping the core intact to hold the leaves together. Gently pull the leaves apart enough to slip some of the chopped meat inside; stuff about a teaspoon of the meat  into 3 or 4 spots in each quarter head of radicchio.

Then roast in a skillet or something similar: drizzle a little oil on the bottom first, and drizzle a bit more over the radicchio after it’s in the skillet. A sprinkle of flor de sal helps, too. Cook at 350° for 20-30 minutes or until the edges of the leaves are looking dark and a little crispy. Eat it with a knife and fork, maybe with another drizzle of extra virgin.

Photo at top by Jim Dixon. Photos of winter radicchio taken at Ayers Creek Farm.

Crustacean Celebration: And They're Off!

I can't believe how excited I was for crab season to start this year. After last year's marathon Crustacean Celebration, the countdown to the start of the season was excruciating. Because of dickering over prices that crabbers would receive and conflicting results of test for something called meat fill, it was possible that the season could be delayed for as long as two weeks.

But when I went to the northern Oregon coastal town of Seaside on Thursday and stopped in at the shrine to crabbiness that is the Bell Buoy (left), they had freshly caught crabs aplenty. My friend Michel and I whipped up a fresh crab salad with some romaine, slivered fennel and a lemon vinaigrette and dove in. Supplemented by a loaf of Dave's wonderful homebaked sourdough and a glass (or two) of rosé, its sweet, slightly salty meatiness was the perfect, simple start to a season of indulgence.

I came back home to the news that the crabs had organized themselves into a group called the Dungeness Crab Commission and, in a stroke of brilliance, got themselves certified by none other than the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) as a sustainably managed fishery. Meaning that it's one of only three crab fisheries in the world to put the MSC label (right) on its products, and the only one of the five Dungeness fisheries (CA, OR, WA, B.C., AK) along the West Coast to be certified. Those are some crazy smart crabs!*

I'd purchased two more whole crabs on the way out of Seaside, determined to whip up an appropriately crabby dinner for the troops at home. Pulling out a recipe from last year and, hewing to the original intent (i.e. keeping it crabby), I made a few modifications and was rewarded with the oohs and aahs of satisfied diners.

If you have favorite crab dishes that you put together for your troops (or even just yourself), please share them in the comments below. It's looking like we're in for another banner year!

Pasta with Crab and Radicchio
Adapted from Tyler Florence, the Food Network

2 Dungeness crabs, approx. 1 lb. each
1/4 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 c. finely chopped shallots
2 Tbsp. finely minced garlic
2 whole Mexican hot red chiles
1 c. rosé
1 lb. pasta
1 small head radicchio, thinly sliced into chiffonade
Juice of 1 lemon, straining out the pulp and seeds
Finely grated parmesan or, for a nice change, extra-sharp cheddar for sprinkling

Bring 6 quarts water to boil and add 2 tablespoons salt.

Pull carapace off of cooked crabs (the large red outer shell). Under running water, clean off all the gills until you're left with the hard shell of the body beneath. I normally rinse out the "tamale" or ochre-colored bits that some people consider a delicacy (you can have them cleaned by your fishmonger if this is all too real). Remove the meat from the cleaned crab and collect in medium-sized bowl.

In a large sauté pan, heat the oil until smoking. Add the shallots, garlic and chiles and sauté until golden brown, about 4 to 5 minutes. Add the wine, bring to a boil. Cook the pasta in pot of boiling water according to the package instructions, until just al dente, and drain.

Remove the whole chiles from the wine sauce. Add the drained pasta to the pan with the wine mixture and return pan to heat. Add crab and radicchio and toss briefly until radicchio is slightly wilted, about 1 minute. Pour the lemon juice over the top. Pour into a warm serving bowl, sprinkle with the cheese and serve.

* Seriously, the Dungeness Crab Commission is an industry-funded agency tasked with "enhancing" the Dungeness crab industry.

Check out this season's Crustacean Celebration series: The Big Boys Weigh In, Deadly? I Think Not, Let Them Eat Cakes, Parallel Universe and last season's series starting with Hot Artichoke and Crab Dip (and links to other posts in the series).

St. Paddy and the Zombie

Zombies aren't something you normally associate with St. Paddy's Day. That's normally left to shamrocks, leprechauns and green Peeps. Yes, green Peeps. Because who doesn't think of green marshmallow chicks on a holiday celebrating an Irish saint?

Radicchio strudel.

The zombie part came in when I was walking past the meat counter of my neighborhood grocery store the other day and saw a pile of briskets on sale for $5.49 a pound. They'd been brined and were covered with pickling spices, all set to make corned beef for the St. Patrick's Day holiday. Not really having time to cook it for dinner that night, I moved on with my cart, but the image of those gigantic briskets stayed with me.

The next day all I could think of were those briskets gleaming in the case, and pretty soon I found myself standing zombie-like in front of them pointing at a four pound monster with its half-inch cap of fat. I'd also run across a recipe for a radicchio-filled potato strudel that had intrigued me, so I picked up a couple of heads of chicory, came home and got busy, my craving for corned beef about to be satisfied.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

The recipe assumes the meat has already been brined, but there are lots of recipes available online if you want to do your own. You can put potatoes and carrots in the pot, as well, though since I was making the strudel (below) I didn't feel it was necessary.

4-5 lb. brined brisket of beef
1 Tbsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
2 bay leaves
2 large onions, cut in wedges
1 head cabbage, cut in wedges
1 pt. dark beer like Cascadian Dark Ale or Porter
Water

Preheat oven to 300°. In deep casserole or Le Creuset pot large enough to hold the brisket, place the brisket fat-side up in the bottom of the pot. Top with bay leaves, wedges of onion and cabbage. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Pour beer over the top and add enough water to barely cover the meat. Place in oven for 3 hours or until meat is cooked through and tender. Slice thinly and serve warm on platter with cabbage and onions.

Radicchio Strudel
By Chef Walter Potenza

For the Dough:
1 lb. potatoes
1 1/4 cups flour
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 Tbsp. grated cheese (Montasio cheese, or Parmigiano)
Salt
Olive oil

For the Filling:
1/3 c. olive oil
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 1/4 lbs. radicchio
Salt and pepper, to taste
1/4 c. grated Parmigiano Reggiano
Melted unsalted butter

Boil the potatoes until just tender, then peel them and mash them in a medium-sized bowl. Let them cool and combine them with the flour, eggs and cheese. Work the mixture into durable and uniform dough. Oil a cloth well and roll the dough out into a half-inch thick layer on it.

To make the filling, cut the radicchio into thin strips and sauté it with the garlic over a very low flame with the olive oil, covered, for about 20 minutes. While it's cooking heat a large pot of water. Discard the garlic clove and spread the sautéed radicchio over the dough.

Season to taste with salt and pepper, roll up the dough, wrap it in the cloth and tie the cloth shut. Salt the water, which will by now be boiling. Slide the strudel into it, and simmer it for about 20 minutes. Cool for 15 minutes before serving.

Serve it, sliced, with melted butter and grated Parmigiano Reggiano, and drizzled with extra virgin olive oil if desired.